Robin, who was fond of teasing.
She deigned no reply, but looked him scornfully up and down, to his
intense amusement.
'Let her alone!' cried a sturdy Bramble; 'she will buy her experience
with sighs and tears, I fear.'
So, acting upon Bramble's advice, they did leave her alone to muse over
her ambitious hopes and desires, whilst they, contented and happy with
their lowly fate, opened their buds to the bright sunshine, which beams
alike upon the high or humble.
And very pretty looked that hedgerow on this same morning. The flowers
were so lovely and fresh, for their gentle Mother Nature had washed
their bonnie faces fresh with dew, and so they held their petals up to
catch the sun's brightest rays, which came in golden gleams through the
thickly-leaved hedges above them. What life could possibly be happier?
There were the birds flying about, cheering them with merry twitterings,
as they sped from tree to tree, or perched in the boughs overhead,
warbling ever their songs of gladness. Then the bees would come, and
ask them, in drowsy, murmuring voices, for just a sip of nectar from
their cups, a boon which was never refused, and in return the busy
little workers would leave them some pollen to colour their petals, and
render them (if it were possible) more lovely than before. The
butterflies, too, would alight on their leaves, and display their
brilliant hues for their admiration, or the gay dragon-flies would fly
about them in that wandering fashion peculiar to those gorgeous insects,
darting hither and thither like flashes of rainbow light. At night the
moonlight would kiss their weary eyes to sleep, whilst the soft
night-breezes soothed them to rest with murmuring lullabies.
It is true there were storms sometimes, and the cold rain would fall
upon them; but still they were sheltered from all fierce tempests, and
would rise up refreshed after the dark clouds had passed away, for they
knew
'Behind the clouds the sun's still shining.
* * * * *
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary;'
and as to the summer showers, why, they tossed their heads, and laughed
merrily at them, shaking the light rain-drops from their petals in
playful fun.
But on this morning, when the tiny Wild-flower was making her life
miserable by useless repinings at her humble lot, and sighing for--she
knew not what!--well, on this same morning there was not a cloud to dim
the sky, so brightly blue was it, and the soft west wind crept among the
leaves and flowers, whispering to them the glad tidings of 'Summer is
come!'
I do not know how long it was after the little girl had passed, that a
gentleman came sauntering slowly up the lane; and as he went, he would
stop every now and then to examine the hedgerow flowers and shrubs. All
at once he espied our friend, almost hidden though she was by the leaves
and long grass around.
'What a lovely little flower!' he exclaimed, as he stooped down to
examine more closely his newly-found treasure; 'how delicate in colour,
how sweet in perfume! Surely this was never intended to remain hidden in
a hedge?'
Oh, if you could but have seen how she tried to raise her pretty head,
which Nature had bowed in simple loveliness, and endeavoured to look
big, little thinking that her greatest charm lay in this sweet
simplicity.
'I must certainly transplant it to my greenhouse,' he went on saying.
'With care and skill, who knows into what it may not develop!--an
entirely new plant, I doubt not. I will at once take it home.'
And away he went to procure the necessary tools for removing her from
her lowly home to one more suited to her wishes.
'Did I not tell you so!' was her delighted exclamation.
'Well, I never!' ejaculated Pimpernel, whose pretty eyes were now opened
wide in astonishment.
'Better to be born lucky than rich,' muttered Ragged Robin.
'Shall I not be grand in a conservatory?' cried the ambitious Flower.
'I would rather
"Adorn the rustic stibble-field,
Unseen, alane,"'
murmured meek Daisy.
'Ah, you have no ambition!' sneered the other; 'besides, "the rustic
stibble-field" is your proper sphere--it is not mine!'
'Pride, pride!' rebuked Honeysuckle, gazing sorrowfully down upon the
arrogant little speaker. 'Take care that you sigh not yet for your old
home and humble friends.'
'Indeed I shall not!' she retorted insolently.
'Wait, wait!' continued sturdy Bramble; ''tis the time of flowers
now--wait till the fruit-time comes.'
'I do not know what you mean,' she retorted angrily; 'nor do I'--
'That there is a time for all things,' explained Shepherd's Clock,
interrupting her.
'I trust your high hopes will be realized,' said Speedwell kindly.
How much longer this wrangling would have continued it is impossible to
say, for at that moment the gentleman returned with a trowel, spade, and
basket, and proceeded to remove her from her native soil. In justice to
her, it must be confessed that, when the moment came to part for ever
from all her old friends, and the surroundings to which, in spite of her
incessant murmurs, she felt attached, she clung desperately with her
slender, fibrous roots to the familiar spot where from a seedling she
had lived and grown--yes, clung desperately! But with the utmost care
every tender fibre was released, and she was placed in the basket and
carried away. Was she glad now? No, far from it--wishing again and again
that she had been left alone.
However, it was too late. She had always complained of not being in her
proper position, and now the glorious change was come; she was being
taken to where her hopes had aspired,--a conservatory or a greenhouse,
it mattered not which.
After a while, with the usual indifference of such natures, her regrets
subsided, giving place to thoughts respecting the place in which she was
destined to live.
'Of course I shall be welcomed by all the nobler flowers with delight
and astonishment,' she mused; 'delight because of my agreeable manners,
and astonishment at my beauty! How I wish my old hedgerow friends could
but be present to witness my reception!'
But this reception, upon which she built such bright fancies, was
delayed for some few days, for, on arriving at her destination, she was
carried into a dingy shed, not into the splendid glass palace her
visions had conjured up.
'Is this the place to which I am destined?' she muttered complainingly.
'Oh dear! no one will see me here. I wish I had remained in the lane,
for there was a chance of my being admired by some passer-by. What is
the use of my ambitious hopes, if this is to be the end of them?'
Fortunately there was no flower or even a plant near to be wearied with
her repinings, so on she grumbled, until at last her misery reached its
climax, when she was taken and pressed tightly into a horrible
flower-pot, then carefully watered, and afterwards put into a dark
corner to take root. Had she been capable of shedding tears, no water
would have been required, such as was given to revive her; for the
sorrow she felt was almost too great to be borne. Here was a life to
lead after all her high aspirations, and her slender roots, too, were so
cramped and squeezed it was something dreadful! Oh for the once despised
hedgerow, with the soft, cool earth, in which she could stretch her
delicate fibres!
But wait, impatient little flower! other days are coming.
One morning--at least so it proved to be, though at the time she did not
know it, as in her dark dwelling she saw neither sunrise nor
sunset--well, this morning of which we speak, to her intense delight,
the gentleman came and carried her out into the open air, and surveyed
her critically.
'Yes,' she heard him say, and how her heart bounded with pride, 'it is
indeed a lovely flower, and may well take its place among those in the
conservatory, for it is really exquisite.'
Here was a triumph! this was the hour to which she had so long looked
forward.
'At last, at last!' she murmured. 'Oh, if my old acquaintances could but
see me now, what would they say? I wish some of them were here.'
Not satisfied even yet! You see there is always an alloy in our greatest
earthly pleasures or triumphs--always a something wanting. Yet so
completely bewildered was she by this excess of gratified pride, that
she knew not whither she was borne, until, when the delirium, for such
it was, had passed, she found herself in a place which her wildest
imaginings never could have supposed possible--a wondrous glass palace,
filled with the most gorgeous flowers of all tints and forms, some
deliciously perfumed, making the air fragrant; whilst in the centre of
this palace a fountain rose and fell with soothing murmurs, scattering
its silvery spray upon exquisite blossoms that floated in the marble
basin. It was almost too lovely, and our little wayside friend sighed
with a sense of overpowering astonishment at the wondrous beauties
around, beauties that dazzled her unaccustomed eyes. Her place, however,
was upon one of the lower shelves, and above her head waved the feathery
leaves of tropical plants, which throve wonderfully well in the heated
atmosphere of this (to her) paradise.
Then she was left alone with her new associates--alone! how much that
word conveys!
After some time the other flowers became aware of a stranger having come
among them, and a flutter (as much as such well-bred creatures deigned
to evince) stirred their leaves and petals.
'What is she like?' asked a Maidenhair Fern, who from her position could
get not even a glimpse of the new arrival.
'Is she elegant and refined?' inquired a Camellia languidly.
'Is she fair or dark?' questioned Tea-Rose, with a faint breath.
'It matters not to me what she is,' murmured Ice-Plant coldly.
'Where does she come from?' whispered Myrtle to her neighbour Cape
Jasmine.
'From a hedgerow,' was the reply, but uttered so that all around her
heard the answer.
'Only a Wild-flower!' was the general exclamation. 'What presumption to
come amongst us!'
Then a chilling silence fell upon them all, except when they spoke to
each other; but, after that unlucky explanation of her origin, it was as
though they ignored her very existence--she was with them, still not of
them.
And, strange to say, our little friend, who was so ready with words
among her compeers, was completely silenced by these disdainful
beauties, and, instead of replying, and holding, or rather maintaining,
her position there, she shrank, as it were, abashed and ashamed of her
lowly origin.
Was this the triumphant reception she had expected? Where was the homage
her beauty was supposed to exact, and where the admiration of her
manners and elegance generally? Ah me! she was only a little wayside
blossom after all, pretty, it is true, and suited to the quiet hedgerow,
but without the merits or the talents to raise her to a higher place.
Better far the humble friends, the lowly mossy bank where she had grown
in peace and rest (save for her own unquiet ambition), than the grandeur
and contempt which now were hers.
So day after day passed on, and the florist who had brought her from the
shady lane, hoping he had discovered a lovely and rare flower, saw with
regret that his treasure was fading; the heated atmosphere of this
splendid conservatory was too great for her to bear, and she was pining
away for the fresh air and freedom of her old home; but, above all, she
longed for the kindly if rough sympathy of her humble friends; the cold
society of these exotics was gradually yet slowly killing her! In vain
was the owner's care lavished upon her--it would not do; the delicate
petals shrank up witheringly, the slender green leaves became shrivelled
and dying, so in kindness he took her from the gorgeous palace, which
she quitted gladly, without one sigh of regret, and carried her back to
the shady lane, the once despised hedgerow, and carefully placed her in
the very spot from which she had been taken.
It was the home for her!
Sadly she turned her dim eyes to the old friends around, who gazed upon
the sorrow-stricken Flower pityingly and without reproach.
'I have returned to die,' she murmured. 'Ambition which has pure and
holy aspirations is laudable in all; but I mistook pride for that which
is more noble, and I am punished. Do not blame me,' she pleaded
piteously, 'but give me your pity, and when I am gone, think with
tenderness upon the poor little Wild-flower who knew, when too late,
that her place was best and happiest when among the humble blossoms by
the peaceful hedgerow!'
PARABLE NINTH.
THE HONEYSUCKLE AND THE BUTTERFLY--HUMILITY AND PRIDE.
One early spring day, a little shoot of Honeysuckle was putting forth
its tendrils low down on the ground at the foot of a quickset hedge. As
yet it was but a weakly sprig, not knowing its own strength, nor even
dreaming that it would ever rise far above the earth. Yet still it was
very contented, drawing happiness from its lowly surroundings, happy in
living, and feeling the warm sunshine kissing its fragile leaves.
Close by, there was a strange, dark, oblong mass, and the little
Honeysuckle tried to imagine what it could possibly be, for it never
moved, nor evinced emotion of any kind; and yet it was alive, because
people would take it up, examine it, then put it down again, saying,--
'It is only a common Chrysalis!' But what _that_ was the Honeysuckle
knew not.
At last, one day, when the sun was shining very brightly indeed, and the
air was warm, and filled with the sweet breath of spring, to her great
surprise she saw this peculiar object move, then by degrees the dark
brown casing was cast aside, and she saw that it had wings!
'Why, what are you?' she questioned, in utter amazement at this
marvellous transformation.
'Me!' he replied. 'Oh, I am a Butterfly, and you will see that very soon
I shall become most lovely, such gloriously tinted feathers will deck my
wings, all the world will be lost in admiration, I shall be so
beautiful!'
'And will you let me see you then?' the meek little flower asked humbly.
'Oh yes! certainly you shall gaze upon me,' he answered, with a mighty
air of condescension.
'But will you not always remain here?' she questioned, pleased at the
idea of having so charming a neighbour.
'Dear me, no! I should think not, indeed. Why, I shall fly far away
from this humble neighbourhood!' was his exclamation.
'What! and leave me?'
'Certainly! what else could you expect?' he replied. 'My ambition could
not endure such a humdrum existence as yours; with these gay-coloured
wings of mine I shall soar to higher realms, and be courted and caressed
where'er I go!'
'Oh that I had wings like yours, or that you clung to earth!' sighed the
tender-hearted Honeysuckle, who, from having been so long in close
companionship with the dark, unsociable Chrysalis had actually grown to
like him.
'Nonsense! what a ridiculous wish!' exclaimed the gaudy insect, who did
not share his little friend's feeling of regard. 'Why, I should die if I
were rooted to one place! I require a large sphere in which to move
about; while as to you--I doubt if ever you will rise higher in the
world than you are now.'
Not a kind remark to make, certainly, and it sadly grieved the humble
flower to hear the Butterfly thus speak.
'And yet,' she sorrowfully mused, 'perhaps he is right; I know I am but
a little green plant, very small, and very lowly, whilst he is so noble
and beautiful with his gorgeous wings. Still, it is heart-rending to
think I shall never rise above the sordid earth, always remain a mere
groundling! But never mind,' she added more cheerfully; 'even
groundlings can do good sometimes, so I'll take courage, and hope for
the best.'
Not many days after this, the Butterfly called out joyfully to his
little admirer,--
'Good-bye! good-bye! See! I have acquired my full beauty, so now I am
off to entrance the world with my perfect loveliness! I _think_ I am an
Emperor, though I am not quite sure; but there! people will soon
appreciate me, and, of course, will acknowledge my claims to
admiration.'
'And are you really going?' she asked sadly.
'Yes, of course! I am perfect now, and could not possibly stay _here_
any longer;' looking round contemptuously upon his humble surroundings.
'But I'll come and see you again, perhaps; _you_ are sure to be found in
the same place!'
And away he flew with a mocking laugh; his gay wings fluttered merrily
in the sunshine as he poised above the gorgeous garden flowers a while,
then he sped away into distance, and was lost to sight, whilst the
little Honeysuckle felt very lonely as she watched him disappear.
'Oh dear me!' she sighed; 'I feel rather sad now he has gone. It
certainly must be very nice to rise a little in the world, not to be'--
'Take hold of my hand, my dear,' said a kind Bramble, who happened to
hear the flower lament her lowly fate. 'I may perhaps be able to give
you a lift up.'
'Oh, thank you very much,' was the response; 'but I fear your kindness
would be thrown away, for I do not think I shall ever be more than I am
at present.'
'One can never know, until he has tried, what may be done,' was the
encouraging rejoinder. 'Look at me, for example! I am only what is
called a Bramble, very much despised by some folks, no doubt; but then,
who despises the fruit I bear? Why, every one likes the hardy
blackberry, and I believe "by your fruit ye are known."'
'But I shall never yield fruit,' the Honeysuckle exclaimed; 'and as to
flowers'--
'You are as yet only a green sprig of something--what I know not,'
interrupted the Bramble sharply. 'But courage, child; take fast hold of
me. I am rough but trusty; so take my hand.'
'I fear to climb!' cried the other timidly.
'Nonsense, child! nothing is done without an effort. Only, when once you
have secured a chance, hold it fast,' was the caution given.
So she ventured to put forth a tender green tendril and clasp her kind
friend's helping hand, which, if rough and thorny, was certainly honest
and true.
It is very seldom in this world that the humble and shrinking find
friends ready and willing to raise them from the ground; for there is
such a rush and scramble to reach the temples of 'Fame' and of 'Mammon,'
that each one elbows the other in the crowd. Some of the weaker ones get
sadly pushed to the wall, others are trampled under foot, and it is only
the very boldest and most daring of the throng who ever reach the
desired goal.
But amongst the flowers it is not so; for how many of the weak ones
cling for support to others, and, through their tender care, gain
strength and beauty. And this was the case with the Honeysuckle; she
felt so secure resting on that strong, protecting arm, that by degrees
she began to gain courage, and to feel her own power. The Bramble, too,
perceiving she was something more than a mere 'little green sprig of
something,' kindly encouraged her to persevere in her upward course. So
she clambered up higher and higher; the delicate green tendrils became
firmer and stronger, and at length, after much painful toiling and many
a disappointment, she reached the highest summit of her hopes--the top
of a quickset hedge!
'Oh, how can I thank you all!' she joyfully cried, when from her lofty
position she gazed around on beautiful scenes undreamt of ere this, and
then looked back upon the toilsome path she had travelled, and beheld
the many kind friends who had helped her on her way, each one of whom
was now rejoicing in her success; 'and you, dear Bramble, my first
generous guide'--
'We are all very pleased to see that at last you have succeeded in your
efforts, my dear,' interrupted that sturdy friend; 'and, what is more,
we do not fear you will prove ungrateful, you are sure to remember us.'
'Indeed, indeed I ever shall!' cried the happy little flower. 'Can I
ever forget those who loved me when I was poor and lowly? that would be
cruel and unkind.'
And so it proved; for, as the summer grew warmer, and her lovely
blossoms opened to the bright sunshine, she in her gratitude showered
them over those dear ones who had helped her in the days of her poverty;
and the fragrant blossoms thus spread over the hedge and the bramble
enhanced their beauty, and rendered them still more lovely in the eyes
of the passers-by.
'Dear me!' exclaimed the Butterfly, as one very hot day he alighted to
rest upon one of the Honeysuckle's leaves. 'Dear me!' he repeated,
surveying her critically; 'why, really I did not know you again. How did
you contrive to get so high up in the world?'
'Kind hearts, loving hands, helped me,' was the simple answer given.
'Oh, indeed!' he curtly said. 'Well, I owe gratitude to no one. I
suppose you will not get any higher?' he questioned, after a pause.
'No,' she replied, with her usual humility; 'and even if I could, I
would not wish it; for, living as I do amongst all who are dear to me, I
have no higher ambition.'
'You were always a faint-hearted thing,' exclaimed the insect, quite
forgetting even to be commonly polite, so elated was he with pride.
'Just compare the difference in our lives! I fly here, I fly there, now
on this flower, now on that. Ah, mine is a glorious life! nothing but
pleasure and excitement all the livelong day. Confess, now, would you
not like to be me?'
'No,' she answered, with the utmost sincerity; 'I am so happy here, I
would not change my lot even for a career so brilliant as yours.'
'What a taste!' he exclaimed, with scornful pity; 'no wonder you remain
a hedge-flower! Why, poets write about us, and there is actually a song
called "I'd be a Butterfly." Only think of that!' he exultantly cried.
'What! and have a pin stuck through one's head, and to be suffocated
with camphor, merely for the sake of being placed in a glass-case for
people to stare at!' ejaculated Spleenwort, with a dash of malice in his
tone.
'Don't talk of such things, you common flower!' the insect angrily
exclaimed. 'I'll not stay here any longer to listen to such vulgarity. I
prefer more refined society!'
And away he flew, evidently very much disturbed in his mind by what
Spleenwort had remarked as occurring to butterflies in general, although
he would not acknowledge that it was so, even to himself, but tried to
banish the thought by indulging more freely in what he considered
pleasure. You see--poor, giddy flutterer--he did not like to hear the
plain truth spoken; flattery would have pleased him better, yet truth,
though sometimes bitter, is a wholesome tonic when taken properly.
* * * * *
The summer days sped fast, for Father Time's scythe is never idle, and
he was gradually, though slowly, mowing down the flowers which had
garlanded the sunny hours. The leaves once so green were changing now,
assuming their glowing autumn tints, whilst some would fall fluttering
to the ground with a gentle sigh of weariness, as the cold winds were
rustling by. Then the stern northern gale came sweeping along,
proclaiming to the forest trees that winter was on her way; and a
shudder would pass through their sturdy branches when they heard the
tidings, for they feared her chill, icy breath.
The bees took refuge in their well-stored hives, the ants had barred
their outer doors, and retired to their most secluded apartments; even
the garden spider was sheltered in his home--only the once gay butterfly
was homeless and friendless.
'Shelter me, shelter me, dear Honeysuckle,' moaned the shivering insect,
coming back to the old home in the day of his sorrow. 'I am so cold, so
weary!'
'Poor thing!' the tender flower exclaimed, with the utmost pity,
forgetting now all former slights. 'Creep under my leaves, perhaps they
may shield you. But your beautiful wings, how came they so torn and
colourless?'
'The pitiless storm last night fell upon me and crushed me to the earth
in its fury,' he answered, with difficulty, for he was so feeble. ''Tis
true the gleams of sunshine to-day have revived me a little; but alas! I
am dying! my brief day is over, and there is no one to give me a refuge
save you!'
'Where are your gay friends?' she asked,'those with whom you sported
throughout the livelong summer hours?'
'Gone far from me,' he answered bitterly; 'they were but friends of the
fleeting sunshine, and I in the day of my power thought but of myself,
and now--I am left alone to die!'